


paying respects

by Merit



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Ghosts, gothic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 09:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16472960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: Just a regular sleepover.





	paying respects

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloodredcherries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodredcherries/gifts).



“Come sleep over,” Cheryl murmured, sliding her hand through Veronica’s, dark nails rasping against her skin, Veronica taking in a breath. Cheryl’s hand was almost frozen.

She smiled. “A sleep over? I haven’t had  a proper sleep over in years,” she said, twisting around, spinning Cheryl around. Cheryl laughed, long red hair collapsing on her shoulders in an intimate embrace.

“Neither have I,” Cheryl said with a lightness that wasn’t reflected in her dark eyes. Then she smiled, teeth razor sharp. “But people think terrible things about Thornhill.”

“Oh? Veronica said, leaning closer. “Do tell! Everyone knows a Lodge can keep a secret.”

“Oh!” Cheryl repeated archly. “But everyone knows of the murders that happened there. We’re on stolen land, Veronica.”

“If everyone knows, it is hardly a secret.”

“A Blossom goes to the grave with their secrets,” Cheryl murmured.

Veronica sighed, rolling her eyes. “Very well,” she let go of Cheryl’s hand, still ice cold, “No one ever told me that people in Riverdale are so dramatic.”

“Riverdale?” Cheryl shook her head. “Oh but Riverdale would kill to keep its secrets.”

 

The sun had set hours ago, the long golden rays sliding through the woods around Thornhill like a blade between the ribs. Clouds had swept in from the east, stealing the light of the moon and the stars. 

The Blossom  _ pater  _ and  _ mater  _ were automatons, programmed to superficial politeness. Their gaze lingering on Veronica’s hands on the silver; as if she would ever steal something so gaudy. 

Clifford, hunched over his wine, a vicious combination of Igor and Dr Frankenstein. Penelope, mouth pressed into a thin line, disapproval in every motion.

Cheryl sat ramrod straight, moving in sharp motions, knife sliding across the plate, steak gushing red.

When Veronica looked out the window, the darkness seemed all encompassing. Her oval face, dark hair disappearing into the black night, hovering without compass. She turned her head -

And something sharp and sudden flashed at the corner of her eyes. She started, the chair screeched backwards. Penelope Blossom raised one ironic brow.

“I thought I saw something,” Veronica said, hands suddenly sweaty. She cleared her throat.

“Something?” Clifford drawled, condescension heavy.

“Just a bat or something like that, dear,” Penelope said, sharing a look with her husband. “Nothing to worry your little head about.”

She swallowed, the hair standing up on ends on her arms, the back of her neck.

It had been too big to be a bat.

 

“I’m sorry about my parents,” Cheryl whispered, feather light. “It was better before Jason died.”

Veronica let the lie stand.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” she murmured, shifting on the cot bed, looking enviously up at Cheryl’s feather bed. “I can’t believe they wanted me to sleep on this ancient thing! It probably last saw action in World War Two.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Cheryl said, lighting to the topic. “Thornhill served as a soldier’s hospital during the war. When I was a child, Jason and I used to play hide and seek in the family cemetery. But it was more than family, dozens of soldiers were buried there, bodies that couldn’t be sent home.”

“Oh,” Veronica said, her skin crawling. She hadn’t really settled since dinner.

“At least Jason will have some friendly faces there,” Cheryl said, so quietly Veronica didn’t hear. “Someone who isn’t  _ family _ ,” she added, like it was a curse.

 

She woke with a start, a cold sweat streaking down her back. She inhaled quickly, looking either side of her.

Up on the bed, Cheryl was sleeping, eyes closed, face deathly pale.

Veronica couldn’t pinpoint what had woken her, but she couldn’t sleep. Her legs were restless. Sneaking one quick look at Cheryl, she carefully exited the cot bed, her toes sinking into the Persian rugs. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

With all the maple money, they should heat this great hunk of a house, Veronica thought to herself. She sneaked into the hallway, following half remembered paths to the bathroom.

Something moved behind her, white and dark.

She stilled, not breathing. Slowly, she turned, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms.

 

Jason Blossom, face still bloody from his murder, grinned back at her.

  
  


Veronica screamed.


End file.
